


six impossible things before breakfast

by sterekfluffer (teampancakes)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teampancakes/pseuds/sterekfluffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione ponders over the morning's strange events and reaches a startling, perhaps even life-changing, conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	six impossible things before breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> For my bfff, Mish, who loves Dramione and ships it with all of her little shipper heart. You wrote me sterek for my birthday, so I thought I'd do the same <3 I honestly had a lot of fun writing this. Please excuse any mistakes regarding canon since my HP knowledge is pretty rusty (I really do need to read the whole series again).

Just as she scraped the scrambled eggs out of the pan and onto her plate (sometimes she liked to cook without magic), the train of thought she had been pursuing all throughout the preparation of breakfast finally came to a conclusion. She laughed as she realized the sum of everything she had been thinking about amounted to six: _why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast._ The line from the old fairy tale ran through her head in the same print she had read it in, dancing across her vision. Because that's what all of it was, wasn't it? Impossible.

She tucked her napkin into her shirt front neatly and picked up her fork as she reviewed everything that had happened since she'd woken up.

  1. Her alarm had rung at exactly 6.49 am, just like it did every single day, without fail (except on weekends, when she let herself sleep in until 9 am) When she'd stopped it and sat up, stretching, she'd picked up her phone and checked her messages. There were six unread ones from a number she didn't recognize and so, shrugging on her robe and padding over to the bathroom, she thumbed through them. There was no name but the tone and content made it sound like whoever had sent them was in love with her (or at least, crushing madly on her). Her cheeks heating up, she'd read them over twice before pressing delete, feeling embarrassed and mollified but also a smidge of _flattered_. First impossible thing: messages from a secret admirer. (She was new to town, she didn't know anyone, and she certainly hadn't met anyone yet).
  2. She was sweeping back her hair and holding it in place at the nape of her neck with one hand to the side while she gargled out the toothpaste when the second impossible thing happened. Her head gave a sharp twinge and she flinched as a dull pounding started up in one side. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wide-eyed. She never got headaches like this, never, unless she drank a lot – had she drunk a lot? No! She never went above her average of one glass of red wine a day unless it was a special occasion. It was simply impossible.
  3. She took a paracetamol in a slightly bewildered fashion and washed her face. Walking back into her bedroom she stopped short before her wicker laundry basket because, spread over it haphazardly was an outfit that certainly did not scream 'I spent last evening eating chocolate and reading in bed'. She raised a hand to her mouth in mortification (what _had_ she been doing last evening?!) as she picked up the inky black skinny jeans her roommate had insisted she get (because her bum apparently looked fantastic in it) and the strappy, glittery, _oh so revealing_ crop top that accompanied it. _Had she worn those last night? Where?_
  4. She was about to inspect her pockets for any evidence when the doorbell made her jump. An early morning visitor? Hardly normal. She tightened the sash of her robe around her waist as she hastened to the door. When she opened it, all she could see was a huge bouquet of roses. Her mouth wide open, she stared as the delivery man's smiling face appeared from behind the flowers. 'Special delivery,' he said cheerfully as he handed her the enormous bouquet. She set it down behind the door and signed his clipboard without taking any of it in. It was only after he'd left, tipping his cap to her, that she picked them up and set them on the kitchen table and the question _Who the bloody hell sent me these?_ ran through her mind.
  5. She stole glances at the roses every few minutes while making breakfast, glaring at them as if they had personally offended her. The roses, on the other hand, sat there innocently, scenting the kitchen with their almost over-powering perfume. It was when she was cracking eggs into a bowl when she saw the little card sticking out of one side. _Ah ha!_ She cried, plucking it from the flowers and opening it with a flourish. _Tentatively yours (if you'll have me), DM._ She frowned. DM? The script was familiar, too familiar. But no, it couldn't be. She traced the sweeping M with her fingertip and felt herself blush. Stuffing the card back between the flowers she'd gone back to her eggs and bacon.
  6. She was almost done making breakfast when she caught her reflection in the mirror yet again and realized the most impossible thing of all – her robe had fallen off her shoulder a little and there, for the whole world to see, was a small purplish-red hickey, about the size of one of those muggle coins. She gasped and the pot in her hands clattered into the sink as she leaned forward and brought her hand up to the mark, running her fingers over it gently. The skin felt tender and bruised and her hand jumped back of its own accord, as if burnt. Surely, surely she had not gone and gotten drunk and then had sex with a stranger?



Running all the six impossible things through her mind, she chewed mechanically. Strung together like that, the things themselves were losing their individuality and impossibility but no. _No._ There was another explanation, right?

She groaned and let her head sink into her palm as the events of the night before came rushing back to her. How Sophia had insisted she go out with her for once, how she'd urged her to wear _that_ outfit, done her makeup and her hair and taught her how to rumple it up so it looked sexy (oh god!), how she'd had two glasses of wine already, at home (which is probably what made her so pliable and easy for Sophia to target), how they'd arrived at the dark and noisy club, full of people she didn't know. Hermione closed her eyes as she remembered what had happened next: the familiar blond hair that she had spotted at the bar, how the wine she'd drunk had given her the liquid courage she probably needed to go up to him and run a hand over his back before settling onto the stool next to him. His little 'Oh' of surprise when he'd realized it was her and then the shy, but almost smug grin that had swept across his face.

"Oh, god, no," Hermione groaned at her plate as she thought back to the way he'd asked her to dance and how close their bodies had been and how his voice in her ear was the hottest thing she'd ever heard and how his lips tasted like mint and candy – _they'd kissed?_ She giggled at her own stupidity – of course, you kissed, you idiot, how else would you have gotten that hickey?

At the back of the club were squishy sofas and couches and he'd sunk into one of them, pulling her along. She had settled into his lap with a small grin as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and oh god – okay, that was enough. She knew they hadn't had sex – she remembered now how he'd put her in a cab (Sophia had gone home with someone) and looked at her with soft, strange eyes before waving the driver on.

But what could it mean? She raised her head and looked at her phone which was lying next to her plate. No new messages.

Had he followed her to Boston? She tried to think of where he'd gotten into uni but realized she'd never asked him. The last time they'd met, it was in Hogsmeade just after the battle. Everyone was in a delicate state of balancing their grief and joy and little explosions as charms went awry and wands went off without telling their owners, had faded into the background of simultaneous wailing and laughter. Her emotions running high, she'd not given kissing him a second thought when they'd bumped into each other outside Gladrags (it was dark and he tasted of leftover fear). He'd bunched his hands into her robes and pulled her impossibly close and she'd let his tears wet her cheeks. Pulling away, panting, she'd stared at him, her lips suddenly cold and her throat empty. He'd gulped once or twice before mumbling something about 'We can't,' and turning away. She'd let him.

A few days letter, she'd gotten a letter. His words were impossibly soft and hopeful but there was still that barrier between them they couldn't break down yet. Years of house rivalry and unconscious jabs had left a mark on both of them which, though not indelible, would certainly take a long time to rub off.

 _Well, it's been three years now,_ Hermione thought as she finished breakfast and sat back in her chair, looking at the roses. _I miss him._ The thought followed on the heels of the first but without warning. Hermione smiled as she realized it. _I miss him._ She reached into the pocket of her robe for her wand and in one sweep, all the dishes were piled neatly in the sink and the roses were in a vase.

It was seven thirty. She would be late for class if she didn't hurry. _I miss him._ She pulled on a sweater and wrapped her blue scarf around her neck as she threw books at random in her bag, hoping they'd be the right ones. _Did he know I was going to Boston for my degree when he applied here too?_

Grabbing her socks and gloves, she makes sure everything in the kitchen is turned off. _Is he even here for uni? Maybe he just came for me?_ Shaking that particular thought out of her head, she checked herself one last time in the hall mirror. _Damn,_ she'd forgotten to put on any makeup again. Sophia kept reminding her to but she wasn't here that morning so the lip gloss and mascara remained untouched on her dresser. _Oh well._  

She grabbed her keys, slipped on her boots and pulled on her gloves. It was 7.45 am and if she took a cab instead of walking, she'd be two minutes early. Opening the door, she barged out, only to crash straight into someone who had apparently been standing on her doorstep.

"Sorry, sorry," she said automatically. _Bloody hell,_ she added internally as her books came tumbling out of her bag and fell into the snow. The urge to bring out her wand and repair the damage was strong but she managed not to (mustn't let her muggle neighbours in on the fact that she was a witch).

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," the person apologized and Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes wide and her cheeks turning red ( _Seriously? Again?_ ).

"I was about to knock," Draco says, his blond hair hidden under a knit cap, his nose slightly red from the cold. "Actually, uh, I've been standing here for a while now." He bent to help her pick up her books and they stuffed them all in her bag expect for a few he insisted he'd carry for her.

"Um, okay, t-thank you," Hermione stammered, "uh, it's okay, no lasting damage done," she joked weakly, her knees trembling under his slow gaze.

"You're going to class, right?" Draco asked after a moment. Hermione nodded. "May I walk you to it?" he sounded hesitant and she found it so endearing she wanted to kiss him right there, books in their arms be damned.

"Sure," she finally said, starting drown the driveway. He followed her and once they were on the street, they fell into step together. The fact that he was still carrying three of her heaviest books made her heart do funny things inside her ribcage.

"So, uh, about last night," she started (she might as well initiate it since the conversation was bound to happen).

"We didn't have sex, if that's what you're worried about," Draco blurted out immediately and then turned red. Hermione smiled nervously as she looked at him.

"No, no, I know you're not – that type –" she said, tripping over her words.

"Yeah, I'm not – yeah," Draco joined in.

"Yes, um, thank you." Hermione trained her eyes on the snow covered ground as she chose her next words. "There is a uh, you know, a hickey, though."

Draco laughed nervously in reply and shifted her books in his arms a little. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. We were both rather drunk."

Hermione hums in reply, smiling. They walk in silence for a block before opening their mouths and ending up speaking at the same time.

"Thanks for the roses, it was very –"

"Would you like to go out again –"

The clash was followed by a bout of giggles before Hermione said, "Yes, I'd love to."

Draco grinned and they fell silent again. They had almost reached her department, a fact that Hermione was not looking forward to even though her first class was her favourite of the entire day.

"So, are you here too?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I got in. I'm doing Mechanics."

"That's nice."

They'd reached the entrance to her department and she halted in front of the steps. Draco looked a little surprised they'd arrived already and the expression made Hermione's heart do further funny things. _God, you're turning into a lovesick fool, snap out of it already!_

"So, I'll call you?" he asked, biting his lip. Hermione stared at it for a minute before mentally telling herself _screw it_ and leaning over to kiss him. This time he tasted like coffee and early morning snow and she let herself indulge in the silky feel of his tongue for a minute before pulling away. He looked a little dazed which made her feel smug as she took her books from him and tucked them under her arm with very little difficulty (she had once carried nearly half of the library from one class to another in her Time Turner days so this was no big feat).

The way he was looking at her made her feel like she was a goddess and she ducked her head. Behind her the bell trilled and the noise level went up a notch.

"Tonight then?" Draco asked, pulling his jacket closer around her as a sudden breeze swept through the court yard.

"Of course," she smiled, this time, letting her heart do its insane acrobatics without complaining.

 

 


End file.
